


In the Falling Quiet

by CommaSplice



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-03
Updated: 2015-06-03
Packaged: 2018-04-02 18:06:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 852
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4069498
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CommaSplice/pseuds/CommaSplice
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Catelyn Tully goes to visit her fiance, Brandon Stark, and his family. As she stands in the Winterfell godswood, she comes to a realization.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In the Falling Quiet

It was one thing to read about snow, to see it on television or in the movies. It was quite another for Catelyn to stand in her fiancé’s family’s godswood and experience it firsthand. She watched in silent wonder as the flakes fell from the grey sky softly blanketing everything. 

Catelyn zipped her coat up just a bit higher and tightened her blue muffler. Brandon had laughed a bit too much at her brand-new gear. (It almost never snowed in Riverrun, why should she have a closetful of winter coats and boots and jackets the way the Starks did?) But then everything about Brandon was a bit too much. Too much. Too loud. Too intense. He filled any room the moment he entered it. It was funny that she’d never really noticed just how outsized Brandon was about everything until she’d come up here for a visit.

_Shouldn’t he be more relaxed, more at peace, now that he was home?_

Catelyn brushed the thought away and decided she would inspect the godswood more thoroughly. Brandon had not seen fit to include it on the whirlwind tour he’d given her—a tour that had mostly consisted of him waving at things vaguely before swooping in to make love to her. As thrilling as it was in his embrace, Catelyn was frustrated that Brandon gave scant attention to her questions or observations. 

“We have plenty of time to talk,” he would say. “I want you now.”

_Had they ever really talked?_

This was stupid. She was in love with Brandon. He was in love with her. They were going to be married in less than a year and he was right: they would have years to talk about things. Catelyn was here to meet his father and his siblings. So far that was going well. Her future father-in-law had praised her to the skies and Catelyn was reasonably certain that Benjen and Lyanna liked her too. Eddard, she wasn’t sure about.

“Ned likes you,” Brandon said when she questioned him as they walked into the local pub. “He’s just . . . he’s Ned. Why does it matter if he likes you?”

“Because he’s your brother.”

But Brandon was already saying hello to his buddies, stranger after stranger, sometimes remembering to introduce her, sometimes not. When Ned had arrived and seen her standing adrift and apart from Brandon who was elbows deep in old friends, he took pity on her, found her a table and answered her questions about who all of these people were and why they were important to Brandon.

_Except for that tall girl with the brown hair and the sharp tongue. Barbrey. The one who had looked through Catelyn like she didn’t matter before leaning in to tell Brandon something that had made him stop and stare at the tall girl with an intensity he’d never before managed to bestow on Catelyn. Why had Ned changed the subject when Catelyn had asked about her? Why had he looked away?_

Brandon would be awake soon. She should go back to the house and have breakfast with him and whoever else was up. But then he’d want to go back out. Back out into this majestic winter to fill it up with his laughter and his bravado. 

_Because there’s nothing real about him, nothing solid—at least not for you._

“Don’t you dare throw that snowba—godsdammit!” she’d cried out yesterday, first in fun. But Brandon had been relentless and what should have been a lighthearted moment had turned irritating. He threw too hard and the snow-packed missiles had hurt. And when she complained, somehow that too became an occasion for his ardor. 

She walked deeper into the godswood. She thought she was at the heart of it now. The other night in the pub, Eddard had told her about it. Yes, here was the weirwood, its ancient face encrusted with the red sap that looked so much like blood and here was the pool of cold, dark water he had mentioned. 

Catelyn worshiped the Seven, but undeniably there was something here. Something quietly awe-inducing. Perhaps those old gods did exist after all.

All the books, all the stories, nothing had prepared her for how silent snow could be. Here there was room to come to terms with what she must have known for some time.

“It’s dangerous to cry out here. Frostbite is no joke.”

Catelyn startled. 

How had she missed Eddard Stark standing in his grey coat and brown boots by the side of the copse?

“You seemed so intent,” he said as he approached her. “I didn’t want to disturb you.”

She stood still while he fished out a clean linen handkerchief and wiped away the tears she hadn’t realized she’d been shedding. 

_Because it was over. Brandon was over._

“Are you all right?”

She took a deep breath. “I will be.”

Ned fell in step beside her as they walked to the house. If they were silent, it did not feel awkward. It felt like they’d known each other for years instead of days. 

_This is how it’s supposed to feel._

**Author's Note:**

> The title is taken from a passage in "Miriam," a short story by Truman Capote. 
> 
> The [prompt](http://grammarsaveslives.tumblr.com/post/119808578637/send-me-a-pairing-and-a-number-and-ill-write-you) was: "Don’t you dare throw that snowba-, goddammit!" Ned/Cat.
> 
> Usual thanks go out to [Vana](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Vana/pseuds/Vana) for taking a look at this.


End file.
